Because language is the carrier of ideas, it is easy to believe that it should be very little else than such a carrier.
Words are as strong and powerful as bombs, as napalm.
Oh, youth is a wicked, cruel thing – eating miracles with its breakfast and not knowing they are not porridge.
Love casts out fear, but we have to get over the fear in order to get close enough to love them.
The only thing that matters is to have charm and expression. Then comes that horrible gnawing doubt of our own magnetism. Is it possible that, though we are not lovely, we are not irresistible either? That we will have to go through life belonging neither to the triumphantly beautiful nor to the triumphantly ugly?
What you possess is not what you jingle in the pockets of your memory, but the imaginings with which you fill the spaces of the future.
Can the knowledge deriving from reason even begin to compare with knowledge perceptible by sense?
Knitting is very conducive to thought. It is nice to knit a while, put down the needles, write a while, then take up the sock again.
Passion is no respecter of persons. She hardly seems to select her victims.
To some people, the impossible is impossible. One fine day, they wake up in the morning knowing that they will never hold the moon in their hands, and with the certainty, perfect peace descends on them.